I’d taken some of the money Jayda had given me to go thrifting for something decent to wear. I had an appreciation for vintage dresses, thanks to my mother, who’d always told me that dresses and skirts were a woman’s rebellion against the world’s ruthless nature. Soft and vulnerable and bold at the same time. I’d never been brave enough to wear them on the subway late at night, only to classes during the day. For the train ride, I’d opted for a pale butter, ruffled sundress with my mom’s faded leather jacket and my combat boots. While I didn’t look homeless, I certainly wasn’t as put together
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